


Bibliophile

by spacehopper



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: A Leitner Made Them Do It (The Magnus Archives), Anal Sex, Angst, Double Penetration in One Hole, Dubious Consent, Literal Book Fucking, M/M, Rimming, Season 3
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-06
Updated: 2020-12-06
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:20:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27908122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spacehopper/pseuds/spacehopper
Summary: Sometimes, it’s hard to pull yourself out of a good book. Luckily, Tim’s there to help when Jon gets a bit too caught up in a new purchase.
Relationships: Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist/Tim Stoker
Comments: 8
Kudos: 88
Collections: The Magnus Intermission: A Weekly Hiatus Prompt Fest





	Bibliophile

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the prompt "Books & Artefacts" plus this comment from an inspiring nonnie: "This gave me a stupid, Oglaf-y idea: Jon comes to possess a Leitner that has an asshole on the cover. He touches it, his finger sinks in, he feels the finger inside his own ass. He sticks his cock into it, he feels it inside him, he fucks the hole..."

Jon sat back on his chair and reached for the cardboard Amazon box. It wasn’t exactly a priority, just a couple notebooks and some pens, but it wasn’t like he had better things to do while waiting to see if Tim made an appearance. However useful Knowing things was, it didn’t come with any sort of prescience. Which meant all he could do was wait, and hope today was the day Tim would make another late night visit to the Institute.

The box contained exactly what it was supposed to, and he deposited it all in his desk except for a single pen and notebook. He’d never really been in the habit of keeping any sort of journal, but recently it seemed like it might be more and more prudent. A way to get down his thoughts that hopefully wasn’t being channeled to some ever watchful and malevolent god. 

He smoothed a hand over the notebook, and frowned when his palm brushed over an imperfection. A strange crinkled whorl sat the center, one he’d taken for some abstract design. But the closer he looked, the more it seemed to have a certain depth to it. Like it wasn’t simply printed on the cover, but was instead embedded in the thick cardboard. He set it on the desk, leaning closer to squint at it, before running his thumb lightly along the edge.

His breath caught, a strange wave of sensation emanating through him. He did it again, pressing slightly harder and biting back a gasp as his muscles twitched in response. It felt like—but no, that didn’t make sense. He shook his head, trying to clear it. Too used to looking for terror in every corner, wasn’t he? A reaction like that didn’t necessarily mean anything. 

Still, there was something strange about it, the design seeming to take on a reddish hue as he prodded it further, teeth digging into his lip. Maybe it was a trick of the light, but he swore it almost seemed to twitch, like it was responding. Like it wanted him to press inside. 

His eyes flicked up to the door, open and empty as it had been for hours now. Nothing to stop him from turning his attention back to the notebook, to press against the center lightly with his finger, just to check. Just to see.

“I’m going to regret this,” Jon said. His voice was oddly muffled, the empty air seeming to consume his words. Like they were some sort of…offering. Christ, he should stop. Should leave while he could. 

But there was something beautifully simple, in the mystery the notebook offered. No end of the world, no fate of his own he didn’t understand. Just a hole that made him shiver, and yearn to dig deeper still. 

And so he pressed on.

At first there was nothing, the notebook as unyielding as it should be. But before he could laugh it off and withdraw his finger, the cover parted, and his index finger slipped easily inside. 

Jon gasped, his own hole tightening instinctively around an intrusion he could no longer deny. His finger was engulfed by the unnaturally slick warmth of the notebook, but it felt like it wasn’t inside it, or not only inside it, but also in him. He crooked the finger experimentally, and felt a corresponding pressure in his arse. Impossible, but no. It was hardly the most bizarre thing he’d experienced. Even if the source was rather unexpected. 

Slowly, he pulled his finger free, closing his eyes in a vain attempt to ignore the state it was in. He took a shaky breath and forced his eyes open again, only to be confronted with the shining substance still coating his finger. Steeling himself, he brought his hand closer, noticing no impurities in the substance, and no noticeable scent. It was a terrible idea, this was all a terrible idea, but he still found himself bringing that same finger to his mouth, his tongue darting out before he could lose his nerve. 

The taste was as unremarkable as the scent. Slightly sweet, but nothing he recognized. Neither unpleasant nor particularly delectable. Despite that, he couldn’t stop himself from bringing the finger to his lips, and sliding it into his mouth. Just in case there was something he’d missed. 

When he removed his finger again, swallowing down the dregs of whatever had been on it, the only thing left was his own saliva. And he felt…nothing. No different, and with no revelations about the notebook. And why would there be?

But he had to look closer. He swallowed hard, scanning his office again, but it was as empty as ever. His hand only trembled slightly as he brought the notebook closer to his face, noticing the color had definitely changed, the puckered edges of the book’s hole visible flushed. He licked his lips, and brought it closer still, shuddering as his own breath ghosted across the surface, and he felt a corresponding heat on his own hole. 

His tongue darted out, grazing the edge of the hole and sending a cascade of sensation through his body. He swore he could almost taste the same faint sweetness as before, his tongue coming out again to lick deeper, pressing in paste the ring of muscle. God, it was wet, in a way that should be impossible—should be horrible—but somehow wasn’t. Quite the opposite, as he moaned and felt the vibrations echo through him, even as he forced his tongue further in.

The hole tightened suddenly around his tongue, making Jon gasp and pull free, slamming the book back onto the desk. Staring at it in horror, even as he could still feel the lingering sensations of his own tongue inside him, how wonderful it had felt, and how much he still wanted it. 

“Good lord,” Jon said, bracing his hands on his desk, struggling against the heady weight of the knowledge of what he was doing. “I need to—to go home. Right now.” 

There were procedures for this. The book would go to Artefact Storage. He’d been trained to handle this when he’d first been hired, and again every year since. Forms to fill out, emailed to Elias and the department heads. Then a full report to Elias who would redact its contents as necessary. At worst, the whole thing would be terribly embarrassing. But Jon knew how to handle it. Had done it before, with no ill consequences.

He got to his feet, the scrape of his chair against the floorboards sounding far too loud in the empty archives. His clean hand drifted to his waist, dipping below to press against the hard line of his cock. Had that really just happened from that alone? Could it be whatever he’d so foolishly ingested? But then it wasn’t that wild, was it. It was influencing him in some way. He’d never do this otherwise. That was why he needed to get rid of it.

And he would. Just as soon as he tidied up, wiping his hand on one of the handkerchief he kept in his desk, then setting it aside to undo his trousers. Pulling them down along with his underwear and realizing too late he should’ve removed his shoes, cursing as he dealt with them as well. The socks he left on; it was cold down here. And who knew how much longer he’d be waiting. 

How much longer he’d have to examine this fascinating artefact. 

It was more comfortable like this, his hard cock no longer pressed uncomfortably against his trousers. He remained standing, tracing his finger along the edge of the book’s hole again, and feeling the corresponding sensation on his own body. With another furtive glance at the door, he pressed two fingers in, groaning as they slid deep inside the book, and deep inside him. 

“What am I doing?” Jon asked. But there wasn’t anyone to answer. Maybe if there had been, he could’ve stopped this madness, the needy warmth, the hungry curiosity that brought his other hand to his arse, running down it until it reached his hole. Finding it empty yet somehow stretched, the press of his own ethereal fingers opening him for some terrible purpose. 

He had to know more. 

His fingers came out easily enough, even as he groaned and ached at the sudden emptiness. Had he known it would feel that good? No, how could he. He’d never tried before. Never thought to seek the pleasure of being filled like this. But now he could find out, as he lifted the book in shaking hands, bringing it to his cock and pushing until the head parted the tight rim. 

The intensity—the sharp stretch of it—made him pitch forward, bracing both hands on his desk as he struggled for breath and sense. But with this barrier breached, the book seemed to need no further help from him, dragging itself easily along his cock, deeper and deeper each time. And all through it, he felt the corresponding push inside of him, a slick burn like nothing he’d experienced before, forcing broken whimpers from his lips.

When it finally stopped and allowed him to catch his breath, he lifted a hand again, reaching back to check, already knowing what he’d find. 

There was nothing—no one—behind him, but his hole was obscenely stretched, held open for anyone passing to see. And it felt—there was no denying it—amazing, pleasure spiking from even the lightest press of his fingers along the sensitive rim. 

He knew he’d made a terrible mistake, some distant part of him screaming that he should get help, no matter how embarrassing it was. It had to be better than whatever this thing wanted from him. What he was finding he desperately wanted himself. 

But the thought was driven from his mind when the book pulsed around him, tearing a moan from his lips. One that only grew louder as it started to move, fucking him on himself, catching him between two heights of ecstasy as it pulled off and came down again. The feeling echoed in his own hole, his cock hitting what must be his prostate again and again.

It was over far too soon, and not soon enough. Jon gripped the edge of his desk and let it have him, sucking and pulsing around him as he came and came like he never had before. Going on and on until he was half-sobbing with how overwhelming it was, until it finally stopped. 

He let himself rest there for a moment, trembling as he struggled to catch his breath. No one had found him. No one had to know. He just needed to get the damn thing off, and then he could go home and just forget about it. He’d talk to Tim another night. Right now he just needed—he needed to forget this. 

But when he gripped the edge of the book and tried to tug, it clenched down hard. Jon yelped at the sudden shock of pain around his oversensitive cock, letting his hand fall back to the desk as he tried again to catch his breath. 

Before he could think of anything else to try, the book was moving once more. Faster now, clenching harder even as Jon whimpered and writhed against it, still too sensitive but already growing hard again under its relentless movement. It wanted more. 

And it would have it.

* * *

The second Tim lifted the trap door into the Archives, he knew he wasn’t alone. It wasn’t exactly a surprise, and if he was careful, it didn’t even have to be a problem. So Jon was working late, plotting or brooding or whatever it was he did these days. None of it was Tim’s problem anymore. 

But as he quietly shut the trap door behind him and began to creep towards the entrance, he realized it wasn’t the familiar noise of the tape recorder or Jon’s snoring or inane muttering he heard coming from the office. Instead the sounds were pained and raspy, like Jon couldn’t quite form words. Or maybe didn’t want to. 

Tim wanted to ignore it. It wasn’t like the bastard deserved better. Like he wouldn’t have abandoned Tim. 

Fuck. He wouldn’t. Whatever else he’d done, whatever he was becoming, Jon wasn’t that far gone. And neither was Tim. Which meant that Tim was going to find out what was happening, and hope that it wasn’t worms again. 

As he crept closer Jon’s door, he noticed it was wide open. Strange, unless Jon had been waiting for someone. For Tim? He nearly laughed at the bitter familiarity of the thought, the idea that Jon was still waiting for a murderer lurking in the tunnels, waiting to do away with him. But no, Jon was barely around these days. So what would keep him here tonight?

Any questions he had were driven from his mind when he came into full view of Jon’s office. His mind stuttered over the scene before him. It was Jon, it had to be, bent over his desk with his back—no, not his back, his _arse_ —to the door. Naked from the waist down, with only his socks on, and his hips jerking feebly in rhythm with the sounds he was making. One of his hands was curled around the edge of the desk, like he was trying to gather the will to push himself away. Or just barely holding on. 

As strange as all of that was, it was almost explicable. Just some weird desk fetish, and honestly that was the kind of weird Tim would happily go for these days. Maybe if that’d been all he’d seen, he would’ve moved on. Left Jon to his wanking and trying to forget his damp, flushed skin and the whimpers that accompanied his motions. 

Except for the thing Tim couldn’t unsee. Jon’s hole, slick and spread and visibly tugged at by something unseen that Tim somehow knew was the shape of a cock. And that was what made him step further into the room, coming up alongside the desk. Where he finally locked eyes with Jon.

For a moment, Jon didn’t speak, staring at Tim with wild, hazy eyes. His mouth hung open, moans forcing their way from his throat, the sound never quite coalescing into words. It gave Tim a chance to examine him from this new angle, and finally see exactly what Jon was helplessly grinding against. 

Or more accurately, into. 

Because impossible as it was, his cock was disappearing into a thin notebook with a bright golden clasp. He wasn’t holding it, and as Tim continued to watch, he realized with growing horror that Jon wasn’t the only one moving. That the notebook was moving with him, dragging his cock into its depths before pulling back, repeating it again and again all while Jon shuddered and groaned. 

“Tim, I need…” Jon’s voice was hoarse, his words cut off by a particularly forceful thrust from the notebook, turning the sound into another broken moan. But even as its pace intensified, Jon seemed to fight against being pulled under again, brow tightening as he stared up at Tim. “Fuck me. Don’t ask—ah. Just do it, please. It’ll, I think it’ll stop it.” 

Tim stared at him in shock, long enough to get a full view of the notebook forcing Jon’s cock balls deep inside itself and—God, that had it be it—inside of Jon. 

“Please, Tim.” Jon’s voice cracked, and his eyes were wide and dark and all too desperate. 

It was all Tim needed to propel him into action, fumbling with his trousers even as he couldn’t quite believe he was doing this. Not that he wanted Jon to suffer, but he never thought—and did Jon really—and Christ, he was a mess. The thoughts tumbled against each other as Tim freed his already hardening cock, not bothering to remove any more of his clothing as he moved to stand behind Jon.

“Really brings a whole new meaning to bibliophile, doesn’t it?” The joke was more habit than anything, as he ran a finger along the crease of Jon’s arse, but to his surprise he felt Jon’s body shake with what he realized was laughter. 

“I did always have my head stuck in a book, growing up. I never thought it’d escalate to—ah—to this.” 

His voice seemed stronger than when he’d first spoke. The Leitners—and it had to be a Leitner—often seemed to have a hypnotic effect. Maybe Tim’s presence was helping? He toyed lightly with Jon’s swollen rim, and tried to ignore the way his cock twitched with interest when Jon pushed back against him. 

“Are you sure about this?”

“Yes. I—Don’t ask how, but I’m sure. It’ll work.”

“Don’t ask…” Of course. Jon wasn’t exactly human, was he? The set bitterly in his chest, but he forced it down. Whatever Jon was, Tim wasn’t going to leave him like this. And he wasn’t going to push the issue now. “Right.” 

He pressed his finger inside, trying to be gentle, but it was hard given the state Jon was in. How many times had Jon come, he wondered? But though his hole was slick, the substance inside seemed to be completely clear. Like Jon hadn’t come, or maybe…no, he really didn’t want to go down that path. Whatever that book was, whatever it ate, he just wanted to get this over with.

The situation should’ve made it difficult, should’ve disgusted Tim for how wrong it was, how it played along the edges of his psyche with each improbably thrust of Jon’s cock. But it’d been a long time, and he couldn’t deny the sight was erotic in its way. Particularly once he began to stretch Jon further, tugging at his rim to carefully pull him wider. His ears filled with the whimpers and moans Jon made, even as he continued to be fucked hard by his own phantom cock. 

But Jon needed to end this. Forget proper stretching, if Tim didn’t get on with it, who knew how things would go for Jon. He lined himself up, one hand on his cock to guide it as he pulled harder on Jon’s rim, slowly pushing his own cock in. 

“Fuck,” Jon said brokenly, pressing his face against the desk. 

Tim couldn’t disagree. The feeling was…intense, and yeah, pretty fucking great. The other cock—Jon’s cock— invisible as it was, still felt like a cock. Flesh sliding against flesh as Jon’s hole—or the notebook’s hole—clenched down around both. Tim’s cock was suffused with a sharp, almost painful warmth, like nothing he’d felt before. It should stop him from coming, but he already knew it was only going to bring him over the edge that much faster.

“I’m not going to last,” he said, moving his hands to grip Jon’s bony hips, and sliding his cock in deeper.

“Good,” Jon said, actually pushing back against Tim, and then doing it again even as he panted and squirmed under Tim’s hands. “I need this. Need you to—just. Please.”

“Okay. I—” He bit his lip, and began to thrust shallowly, swallowing back moans of his own. What else could he even say? _I still hate you, even though I’m fucking you to hopefully free you from an evil book? I want to help you, want your help, even though I think we’re both totally fucked up?_ None of it was anything he could say now. Or could say ever. They had more important things to do. Best to focus on action. One step—one motion—after another.

His fingers dug into Jon’s hips. Too hard, but Jon didn’t seem to care, shaking under his hands as he babbled encouragement. Pleas for Tim to go deeper, harder, that he needed it, that it needed it. He must mean the book, and damn Tim really hoped this didn’t come back to bite them both. 

But he was in too deep now, all too literally, his cock dragging along the phantom cock, thrusting into Jon’s hole. So close, so close, and he knew he shouldn’t do it but he couldn’t find it in himself to stop, leaning across Jon’s back as he came, pressing a too soft kiss at the base of Jon’s neck. 

He stayed there, shaking as he spurted inside Jon, knowing that he had come inside Jon himself, and not into that evil book. Even as his cock softened, he remained. Listening to Jon’s hiss of breath as he trembled beneath Tim. Waiting for him as Jon gingerly shifted, and reached for the book.

His lips found the back of Jon’s neck again, nipping and kissing and sucking, distracting Jon from the task of pulling the book off his cock. And it was coming off, though each inch was accompanied by a whimper, a sound Tim couldn’t be sure was pain or pleasure. Maybe it didn’t matter anymore. Maybe none of it mattered, except that the book came free, dropping to the floor just as Tim dragged Jon into his arms, and they both collapsed onto the floor.

Jon didn’t pull away. When he turned in Tim’s arms to press his face into Tim’s neck, Tim couldn’t find it in himself to push him. Instead, he ran his fingers over Jon’s sweat damp hair, and stared blankly at Jon’s desk.

“The worst thing is, I didn’t hate it.” The confession was so quiet Tim wasn’t sure he’d heard right at first. Maybe it wasn’t even for him. But Tim found himself answering all the same.

“I know.” 

That was always the problem, wasn’t it?


End file.
